sitting by the dock of the bay Sunday, Nov 15 2009

People always talk about the fabulous spring in Paris but autumn has been absolutely magical.  As you walk the streets in the early fall, your senses are overwhelmed by the sweet smells of late summer and the overwhelming sense of the ongoing harvest.  As we move into late fall, the low sun shines through the thin clouds and the atmoshphere is thick with the heavy smell of  damp leaves and fires which are warming the apartments all around the city.

Some of my favorite moments this fall have been walking through the city with no particular destination in mind and enjoying letting my senses lead the way.  On one particular Sunday, we were out for a walk headed towards ile de St Louis and Notre Dame.  Crossing the wooden pedistrain bridge mid-afternoon, the sun shined brightly on the seine as street performers entertained tourists, returning students, and families out to enjoy the day.  On this particular day, there was an excellent jazz ensemble playing Otis Redding’s, “sitting by the dock of the bay.”  The moment was caught as a snapshot in my mind and will forever be replayed as the perfect early fall day.

Our time here as been filled with moments like these, picture perfect moments that happen, these are not contrived moments.  So often, as Americans we get so caught up in manufacturing our lives, that we forget to let it happen.  This has really been the most remarkable part of our visit.  Whether out for an afternoon activity, running to the market in the morning, going to the theater or dinner, Paris demands that we stop and just take in the moment.

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french train mishap Sunday, Nov 15 2009

My love affair with the french rail system may be coming to an end, I’m afraid.  As big dude has pointed out, I think we’ve run out of train luck.   I have been singing the praises of the french rail system since we arrived 2 months ago and all of my french friends have given me a hard time, but these past two weeks, we experienced what they roll their eye about while listening to my praises of the system.

We were in Normandy and had an evening train back to paris.  We made it to the station just ahead of schedule and promptly got settled in our car.   Being happy to relax after two fun but exhausting days, I did not realize right away that we were late in leaving the station.  When I finally looked at my watch, we were already 30 minutes delayed.  Just as we were getting restless, a rail worker came on to announce that our train was experiencing engine difficulties, i.e. wouldn’t start.   We were told a train would be arriving shortly to take us to Liseux to catch a train that would leave there in about 1 1/2 hours.  As we left our train to board the next one taking us Liseux, we quickly realized it wasn’t a train at all but a commuter rail train and there were only 2 cars.  While rushing like everyone else to secure places on this train, I assumed there must be some mistake: they couldn’t be attempting to load a 10 car highspeed train full of families traveling back to paris after vacances into 2 subway cars???!!!!but they were.  After we loaded on like sardines and waited 20 minutes with no air and listening to a pack of drunk 17 year olds singing about the faults of the french rail system and government, we were told that there was actually another train that would take us.  We all had to pile out again, it was now quite dark and I almost lost little lion.  We all piled into a double decker: no more room and still no air.  Finally after waiting another 30 minutes, the train departed for Liseux.  luckily only a 20 minute ride.  At Liseux, we waited for 30 minutes for the train for Paris to finally arrive.  But at least we got to stand outside in the fresh air.

This train stopped two more times for technical difficulties but finally we arrived in Paris just before midnight, 3 1/2 hours late.  There was a SNCF representative at the station to greet us with a voucher for a refund/free ticket for travel.  At least in France when the trains fail, they compensate you immediately and without question.

Little buddha had the best answer of all–he spend the last hour of the journey meditating–what else is there to do?

Last week, our luck was again tested with our trip to Monte Carlo.  On the way back to Paris, our train was continuously stopped and delayed at stations for police inspections, no one explained why, it just was.  We were nearly 2 hours late but they offered free sandwiches for our trouble……..

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bon marche: bon dimanche Sunday, Nov 15 2009

The Sunday organic market on rue Raspeil has quickly grown to be one of our favorite traditions in our short time in Paris.  I find myself planning our weekends so that we are in paris for market day.  Little lion and little buddha and I usually hit the market together.  The abundance of fresh produce, cheese, meat etc is overwhelming.  We are not the only ones for whom this is a Sunday tradition. Parisians from all walks of life seem to land in this market.  There are children learning to pick just the right head of lettuce for sunday dinner; today I witnesed a family take literally ten minutes picking just the right one.  The whole family was in on the search much the way we would choose a pumkin for the family jack-o-lantern in the US.  In addtion, there are roving musicians, students, tourists and of course gypsies.

The are probably 100 vendors, vegetables, fruit, bread,cheese, buthcher, fish, herbs, etc. Some stands you pick your own items, some you request what you’d like.  When requesting from the attendants, you will always be asked when you plan to use it, guaranteeing that it will be perfectly ripe when you use it.  And for the cheese, you are asked what type of age you’d like it to have, would you like it hard or soft, etc.

And there is not just food.  You can also purchase hand-made soaps from Marseille, handi-crafts, table linens, scarves and much more.  There are also seasonal treats to be enjoyed.  As the fall has progressed, we have enjoyed pear and apple cider, hot chocolate, and our favorite, the pumpkin tarts which are homemade and warmed for you a large iron skillets or packed up for d’emporter.

We have witnessed this market tradition in every city, town, village and hamlet where we have traveled in France.  The markets are the center of life.  People come to get their fresh ingredients; but it is more, it is a community, a place where people communicate, check in with one another, exchange recipes and ideas.  It is this sense of community and tradition that is so lacking in the US.  There are farmer’s markets now in many parts of the US, though many of them are only seasonal, but it doesn’t have the same tradition.  In the US, there is a sense that the farmer’s markets are simply another yuppie trend.  They are a place where people can be seen and say that they bought their expense organic produce. I have known of more than one person who has gone to local market to purchase their organic produce only to stop for fast food on the way home to serve their children who will not eat the produce from the farmer’s market.

The farmer’s market in France is a way of life: it is not about being seen, it is about getting the freshest and best ingredients for your meal.  It is not about making a political statement or achieving a picture, it is about tradition and slowing down to enjoy the process of shopping for ingredients, preparing meals and enjoying eating.

And always, having completed your purchases you are bid farewell with “Bon Marche et bon dimanche!” and as you leave the market with the smell of fresh galettes, fresh cider and gypsie fiddles in the background in the cool crisp air of fall, you feel as though for a moment you are part of the tradition.

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french waiters rule Friday, Nov 6 2009

Waiters make strong requests not suggestions but it has come to be very endearing to us.  Some of the most amusing moments we have had have been with the controlling French waiters.  Big dude has been told when to put napkins in his lap and we’ve been told what to order.  Like the waiter at Brasserie Lipp who would not permit big dude to order andouillette.  After repeatedly requesting it and being sure that he was pronouncing it correctly, the waiter finally explained to him “no you may not order,” and rubbing his stomach patiently explained that it is stomach and not sausage—the only organ meat mistake we have made and a much appreciated correction from the waiter.  Another time in a restaurant in a gare les petits garcons wanted “American cheeseburger’ and a salad but the waiter explained firmly that perhaps instead of the cheeseburger “ which we have plenty of in the US,” perhaps they should try the special a steak with a salad and frites because the salad is big and the cheeseburger too, it might be too much.  Thank you monsieur waiter, but we have not eaten today and ridden 6 horses and we will take the salad and cheeseburger.  And then dessert ohh lala.

On another evening, little dude ordered a chicken and mashed potato dish off the adult menu not the children’s and the waiter obliged but when he brought the bread basket, he explained to little dude, not too much bread because his meal would be quite large.  It is fabulous in a French restaurant you do not even have to parent because the waiters will monitor it for you!!!

And they most certainly never put your food down in front of you until you have placed your napkin in your lap.

And at least once week, big dude gets the hairy eyeball at best and a non on bad days  from the bar/brasserie  at the corner when he goes to pick up lunch–NB do not try to order 4 of anything that is running low.

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les greves Friday, Nov 6 2009

A couple of weeks ago, big dude and I headed to Bourg en Bresse on the train to look at some horses.  Having made our reservations at the last minute, we had to take a route that took us through Lyon with a transfer.  No problem.  We enjoyed a pleasant and uneventful ride to Lyon, however when we got off our train, our connecting train was not to be found on the board in the station.  Not having a long connection time, I went straight to the information center–to be told that yes, in fact, there was no train to  bourg en bresse– “une greve aujourd’hui.”  We would have to take a bus–the next one was in about 1 hour, which would make us too late for our meeting.  Luckily we caught a ride with a friend and weren’t really negatively impacted.  What is odd about this situation, however, is the calm that surrounds les greves.  No one announced it before we left Paris, no one was complaining in Lyon, the French were just moving about their day and when we told other people about our situaiton they just replied, “ah, la greve aujourd’hui.”

This experience was repeated the following week when we were again at the train station.  We went into the librarie to have a look and I thought maybe I’d buy a newspaper.  There weren’t any on the shelves, however.  I assumed that because it was vacances and the trains were busy, they must have sold out.  A few moments later, I noticed an elderly gentleman come into the shop looking for his daily journal and when he inquired from the shopkeeper, the answer came, “une greve aujourd’hui.’  ”AH oui, la greve,” he replied nonchalantly.   As he turned slowly and ambled away, I couldn’t help wondering how would Americans respond if our industries just periodically striked for a day?

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